Blunt
by macrauchenia
Summary: "Are you kidding me? I've survived a Kanima, a Darach, and Derek's psycho uncle, but my freaking appendix is the thing that almost kills me!" When a supernatural disaster leads to an entirely natural medical emergency, Stiles realizes just how valuable being human truly is. [PackFluff]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Teen Wolf belongs to its original creators and owners.  
**Author's Note: **My first Teen Wolf fic! Hopefully these beautiful babies aren't too OOC. I'm always nervous about that. This also takes place right after the first half of the third season. It isn't that I don't love Liam, Malia, and Kira...but I just wanted to explore with the original gang first.  
Thank you for reading! This will hopefully only be a few chapters with plenty of pack-friendship-goodness and fluffy happiness.

* * *

"At the risk of sounding cliché, I won't say it out lou—aww, hell. I deserve this one. _I told you so._"

"Now is not the time, Stiles." The alpha wolf's words were guilty and gritted. Stiles, in fact, had told them about this, but no one had listened. Now their best hope was to hold them off until help came.

"Yeah, the time would have been _before_ we stormed into," the pale human paused for a nervous gulp of air, "a freaking were-porcupine den." He knew the terminology wasn't quite right, but the actual name from the Bestiary seemed to slip the boy's mind at the moment. They didn't look much like porcupines now, but Stiles had a feeling any aggressive move would startle them into their true form.

_True form? What is this—some final boss showdown? _

Still, their true form was a terrifying thing. Especially for a boy who wasn't particularly fond of needles.

"Just stay back. We'll take care of it." One of the twins—Stiles wasn't sure which—shouldered past him and barred his fangs intimidatingly. Before Stiles had a chance to warn them, the twins raced towards the mottled, mangy creatures with claws extended.

_I suppose they'll figure it out then,_ the boy commented dryly in his mind, taking a precautionary step backwards as one of the creatures fixed him with its glowing orange eyes. It waddled curiously towards a hastily backpedaling Stiles. The other twin—or was it the same one?—knocked the creature to the side with a clawed swipe. This turned out to be an awful mistake, as the jarring impact caused the were-porcupine to shudder and elongate. Rows of thick, penetrating spikes sprung up along the creature's spine and its once mild mewling erupted into violent hissing and spitting.

"Damn."

Stiles silently agreed. Especially since the were-porcupine's three companions sensed the growing tension and began their transformation as well. In a matter of moments, they would be surrounded by mangy, hissing creatures, which seemed no longer curious, but instead furious.

Scott hesitated before glancing towards Stiles. "I don't suppose you remember reading anything about how to stop them from doing that…?"

Upon seeing the creatures' sharp spikes, the name struck the boy like a physical blow. _Chupacabra! _Goat-sucker. _Why couldn't I remember that?_ Unfortunately, knowing the name hardly helped them now. He highly doubted there was a goat in the ten-mile vicinity. Stiles grimaced, "Lydia was the one who dug up the information on that. She texted it to me…but…"

"You left your phone at the station."

"Yep. Which is why I said to wait for the others."

Scott sighed. It was as close of an apology Stiles was going to get for the werewolves' eager rush into the warehouse. He could only hope Derek's keen senses would lead the others to their side of the industrial park before they were all Mexican shish kebabs.

"Try to avoid hitting the spikes. They may be poisoned." As the alpha, Scott supposed it was his place to offer advice. Even if it was extremely lame advice.

A sarcastic bark of laughter erupted from one the twin's mouths, confirming Stiles' suspicions that Aiden was the one who instigated the cryptids. "_Avoid_ the spikes? They're _covered _in spikes."

"Not on their underbellies," Stiles interrupted.

Understanding where the human was going, Ethan nodded eagerly. "They're completely defenseless underneath."

"Like alligators," Aiden grinned back.

Stiles repressed the urge to roll his eyes. First the Kanima, then this. He was rather sick of the reptilian imagery.

Although the brief respite was welcome for planning, a high-pitched keening noise indicated that the Chupacabras had successfully completed their transformations. As the Bestiary had promised, they were indeed hideous with rows upon rows of deadly spikes traced down their backs. Their once tiny, albeit mangy muzzles were now crowded with oversized and yellowing incisors, dripping with gooey saliva. Their tails lashed viciously from side to side as each beast slowly sauntered closer towards the group of teens.

Feral snarls rippled across the werewolves' faces as they prepared for the inevitable attack. The largest Chupacabra crouched down and sprung towards Scott with another earsplitting screech. With eyes flashing blood red, Scott returned the battle cry with a growl of his own and slid under the airborne creature, snagging it along its furry underside with extended claws. Not wasting any time, Ethan and Aiden each launched themselves towards the other Chupacabras, roaring loudly.

Stiles took a quick inventory of the fighting and noticed with a twitch in his gut that there were only three. The boy immediately began another careful retreat, walking backwards slowly as his eyes scanned the unfolding scene. _Three? I thought there were fo—_

Something warm and foul-smelling trickled down his neck—something like rotten breath. Knowing he may very well never see that appendage again, the boy hesitantly reached behind his back, tangling his trembling fingers in dirty, matted hair. His left foot hovered in midair for a moment before it came crashing down in a loud _stomp_.

_Oh God. I just touched it. I'm going to die and my hand will smell like wet dog in my casket. _

Pivoting on his now planted foot, Stiles had approximately two seconds to dive out of the way before a sharpened claw threatened to decapitate him. The Chupacabra's momentum carried it forward, causing the monster to crash into Aiden, spikes first. A startled _yip_ rose from the teen, who probably had no idea where this second assailant came from.

_Whoops._

Taking full advantage of his temporary freedom, Stiles scoped the warehouse for something to help him when his grumpy Chupacabra inevitably sauntered back. Eying a discarded metal rod, the boy quickly grabbed it, shuddering at the cool, smooth sensation in his sweaty palms. It wasn't a baseball bat, but it would do.

He ducked behind something large and sooty to survey the ensuing fight, noticing with a faint smile that the werewolves seemed to be temporarily on top. Scott had successfully flipped his opponent, leaving the stubby legged creature flailing on his spiked back, unable to right itself. It reminded Stiles of a furry turtle. The alpha wolf turned towards Aiden's second Chupacabra and released a bone-shattering roar, enough to cause the cryptid to turn its glowing gaze on the alpha.

A flash of light and a wounded screech echoed through the abandoned warehouse. Stiles suppressed the urge to smile. _Allison._ He was nearly positive that the girl had brought the rest of the pack as well. Derek's low growl and Isaac's higher pitched whistle confirmed it.

"Stiles!" The boy turned at the sound of his name. Lydia appeared next to him, panting faintly from her high-heeled run through the industrial park.

"You came just in time," the brunet grinned at the red head.

"We would have come sooner if you answered your phone," was the terse reply.

"Well…"

Lydia scrutinized the boy's guilty smile. "You forgot your phone." It was more of an accusation than a question.

"Uh…"

She watched the ongoing struggle for a moment. While Allison distracted one of the Chupacabras with her flash arrows, Isaac repeatedly struck at the monster's exposed underbelly. The twins were easily handling another Chupacabra while Scott singlehandedly struck at another. Derek was somewhere, probably searching after Scott's first opponent, who successfully managed to flip itself back on all fours.

"You know they're practically harmless when not provoked. But you wouldn't know that, would you? It was in my last message."

Stiles shrugged, flashing his empty palm at the girl in a gesture of innocence. "That actually wasn't my fault." Her flat, green stare seemed unconvinced. "You can thank your boyfriend for that. He's the one who swiped at them."

A loud whimper from Isaac caused both of the inactive teens to swivel their gazes towards the young werewolf. The teen swayed on his feet, clutching a trembling arm close his scratched chest. Something yellow streamed alongside the dripping crimson.

"The venom," Lydia answered Stiles' unvoiced question with pursed lips. "It's a natural anticoagulant."

Stiles nodded. "_Goat sucker_. To keep the blood of its victims flowing so it won't prematurely clog up." He eyed Isaac nervously. "But what does it do to a werewolf?"

Lydia's lips tightened to a white pucker. "Nothing good. Probably slows the healing process and makes the blood thinner."

There was a flash of panic across Isaac's distorted features as the slashes on his chest did not begin their immediate stitching. Instead, the deep crimson flowed more freely from the injury, confirming Lydia's grim prediction. The werewolf swayed on his feet again before collapsing.

_"Isaac!"_ Another flash arrow blinded the assailant, sending the Chupacabra squealing backwards. Stiles knew it was a temporary distraction though. Elsewhere, Ethan uttered a confused snarl as he too fell victim to the Chupacabra's bite. Luckily, he was not severely wounded, but the venom was throwing off his equilibrium.

"We need to find a way to stop them," Stiles announced firmly, turning to Lydia. "How?"

The girl bit her lip as her eyes darted across the concrete battlefield, carefully reviewing each fact she had painstakingly sent to Stiles' absent phone. Her vibrant eyes light up as she remembered the last, crucial footnote.

"Water! They hate water! It'll cause them to go back to normal."

_Like reverse Gremlins. _Stiles' eyes flickered upwards before a slow smile spread across his lips. "What kind of building do you think this used to be before they turned it into a warehouse?"

"I don't know. Some old iron mill, probably." Twisted pieces of metal and discarded, rusted tools littered the concrete floor. The two of them were currently crouched behind what looked like the remains of a once productive forge. "Why?" Her gaze followed where Stiles was looking.

"Oh."

* * *

With the reinforcements, they had the numbers, but Scott wasn't sure how much longer he and his pack wanted to keep fighting. There was something definitely wrong. He had seen Ethan go down only a few moments earlier, joining a nearly unconscious Isaac. Aidan and Allison were consumed with protecting their friends, leaving Derek and himself as the only viable fighters amidst a pack of—_what had Stiles called them again?_

Scott glanced to the side to where he had last seen Stiles and Lydia but the two were missing. Something heavy dropped in the alpha's stomach, but he didn't know what it meant. He had little time to dwell on it as the spikes from one of the Chupacabra's tail lashed against the back of his calves. Scott snarled in pain, spinning to swipe at the creature's muzzle. Some of the yellow goop dripping from the monster's mouth dribbled on Scott's claws. The werewolf disgustedly shook off the saliva and resisted the urge to wipe it against his tattered shirt. The liquid tingled as it came into contact with the boy's skin.

"Careful," Derek's low warning sounded somewhere behind the alpha. Scott turned and tilted his head at the dark haired werewolf.

"What?"

While knocking one of the beasts away with one set of claws, Derek waved his free hand in Isaac's direction. "The venom. Lydia said it's an anticoagulant."

Scott pursed his lips faintly, wishing he had paid better attention in anatomy, as he hadn't been particularly studious his sophomore year.

"It messes up our healing process," Derek simplified. "Didn't Stiles get Lydia's message?"

"Didn't get the memo," Scott grunted cryptically, springing back to avoid one of the Chupacabra's vicious bites. Now he certainly wanted to avoid the monsters' gaping jaws. He paused, thinking again about his best friend.

"Have you seen them lately? Stiles and Lydia?"

Derek spared a cursory glance around the abandoned building and shook his head once. He only saw the other werewolves and Allison, gathered in a small circle around the wounded.

He never thought to look _up_.

* * *

"This is by far the most idiotic plan you have ever come up with."

"Do you have anything better, Lydia?" Stiles tried to sound annoyed with the girl, but a large part of him agreed with her blunt assessment.

Her silence further affirmed that this was their best option, though it did little to bolster the human's confidence.

He took a deep breath and tucked his metal weapon into his belt for safekeeping. Lydia eyed him with an unreadable expression.

"Couldn't find a baseball bat? Or did you leave yours at the station too?"

Sending her a flat glare, he wrapped one hand around the rusted industrial ladder and pulled. Although the orange and brown rust flakes bit into his palm, the ladder itself seemed solid.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Concern trickled into Lydia's voice, tinging her steely stare with anxiousness and apprehension.

"I'll get back to you on that."

"You're going to fall."

"I'm not going to fall. There's a railing, remember?"

"Nothing will come out except for dust. The water in the pipes has evaporated by now."

Stiles grinned weakly at the girl. "Then all you have to do is turn on the water."

"They probably shut the water down years ago," she countered. Something about this didn't seem right. She could _feel_ it in a way she couldn't explain.

Still with one foot on the bottom rung, Stiles leaned back and surveyed the warehouse. Although it certainly looked abandoned now, the "for sale" sign had been taken down. He doubted the Chupacabras were the ones who had made the down payment.

"The electricity is on, so I doubt that would be the only utility working." The lights in the overhead lamps had burned out years ago, but the faint buzzing made by exposed wires echoed in their ears.

"I still think this is a bad idea."

"Me too. Wanna trade jobs?"

"No."

With that warm parting remark, Stiles took a nervous breath and wrapped his other hand around the ladder rail, feeling the sharp nick of rust against the underside of his fingers. With another steadying breath, the boy stepped onto the next rung, pulling his body up with it.

Lydia watched his careful progress for a moment to ensure the decrepit ladder didn't come crashing down on the both of them before darting back towards the abandoned forge. Their salvation had been only a few feet from them the entire time: an antique, eroded spigot, nearly the size of Lydia's face. She gripped it tightly, ignoring the gritty feeling against her skin and yanked as hard as she could, trying desperately to turn it. Once she turned it, the water would flow. But she had to turn the awful thing first.

Grunting with the effort, the girl tried again, cursing her weak strength. It was no use—the spigot and the pipe fastened to it were rusted solidly shut. She glanced back towards Stiles, waiting on the catwalk for her signal. Lydia tugged again on the rough metal spigot, feeling a nail crack under the pressure. She fought the urge to release her anger in a few curt four-letter words and instead turned back to where Derek and Scott were fighting. They didn't have much time, though Aiden and Allison were certainly helping things.

As Derek sent one of the Chupacabras flying, an idea struck Lydia that was so simple it almost made her blush.

Why not use some supernatural strength?

"Scott!"

The alpha either didn't hear her or could respond. Lydia took a deep breath.

_"Scott!_" It wasn't a banshee scream, but the clouded windows near the girl rattled. Stunned by the loud sound, Scott froze and turned towards the girl.

"Lydia…?" Scott blinked, wondering what was so important as to interrupt his fight.

"Get. Over. Here. And. Turn. This. Spigot." Each word was carefully enunciated as to suggest that total compliance was necessary. "_Now."_

The alpha was thoroughly confused, but something about the girl's urgent expression forced him to cross quickly towards her, ignoring Derek's irritated growling.

"What's going on? Why do yo—"

"I'll explain—just turn this!" She gestured towards a rusted spigot attached to an equally rusted pipe. The boy's crimson eyes followed the widening pipe up the concrete wall, through the rafters, over Stiles on a catwalk—_Stiles?!_—and ending in a massive tank, suspended over a large boarded over section in the floor.

Suddenly Scott figured out where the two of them had been all this time.

With a low grunt, he bent his knees and twisted against the rusted spigot. Despite the high-pitched squealing of the grinding metal, the handle turned gradually. Lydia held her breath.

"Do you hear anything?"

Still confused, Scott shook his head and then paused. "Wait—I hear _water…_?"

Lydia grinned. "Perfect." Soon the sound of water rushing through the pipes echoed in Lydia's ear as well. "The Chupacabras don't do well in water. It turns them back into what they were before you provoked them into raging porcupines."

Scott felt a grin stretching across his own tired face. "That's brilliant. What else do you need us to do?"

Lydia pointed towards the boarded up section. "Rip that up. Underneath should be a massive hole—sort of like a drained pool. It's what they used to cool the hot metal. Once you get the Chupacabras in it, then Stiles will release the water." They glanced up simultaneously to see Stiles wave at them.

Scott nodded and raced back to Derek, who was irately juggling two of the creatures on his own after overturning another. He didn't seem to be particularly happy to see the deserting alpha, but after Scott explained the solution, the older werewolf's darkened brow markedly cleared.

"This is the plan they came up with? Push them in a swimming pool?" Still, he didn't argue with what they had to do. Recruiting a woozy Ethan, who was finally starting to heal, Scott began to rip apart the aged and molding wood. It came apart easily in their claws, but it was a large section to clear.

"Maybe this'll help!" Aidan's grunt was followed by a loud crash as one of the flailing Chupacabras smashed through the remaining boards and landing in a pile of splinters on the concrete floor, several feet below.

Derek's lip flicked up in an unexpected display of humor. "We should lead with that next time."

Within moments, the other conscious werewolves had bundled the remaining three Chupacabras into the hole. While the others gathered around the rim of the hole to admire their handiwork, Scott turned towards Stiles and waved his arms.

"Now!"

* * *

The hardest part, he figured, would be going up the ladder. The boy had no great love for heights. However, he preferred the heights to the needles, so the trade off, in his eyes, was all right. Even if he needed a tetanus shot afterwards, because at least that needle wasn't trying to kill him.

From his lofty perch on the rickety catwalk, Stiles was able to enjoy the rare joy of watching a plan unfurl completely unhindered. He carefully made his way to the water tank, trying to convince himself that the wobbly shaking he felt was his knees and not the inevitable collapse of the antique catwalk.

He studied the tank and frowned. The lever used to release the water was eroded beyond repair. Stiles reached out for the extended piece of rusted metal and it snapped of easily in his sweaty palms. _Great. _

His calculating eyes ran along the large tank. Gripping the rusted railing tightly, he leaned forward and scanned the bottom. _There! _Although the metal itself still seemed marginally sturdy, the various thin lines of worn bolts along the seams were not nearly as airtight. Already water was starting to leak through the minute cracks, caused by age and erosion.

He could hear the rewarding splash and gurgle of the rising water in the abandoned tank. It was probably the first time in over a decade that the container had ever held water.

And now Stiles was going to smash it apart.

Pulling out the discarded rod, he gripped the skin-warmed metal tightly in his hands before bashing the jagged edge against the most worn bolt. The sharp impact jarred his arms and stung his hands, but he reared back to strike it again. The catwalk shook under his feet from the repeated blows rumbling through his body. The loud clanging echoed in the empty building. He was aware of his friends' eyes on him, but he kept pounding at the weakening metal.

Amidst the metallic ringing, another sound caught Stiles' ear. He paused, waiting for the reverberating echo to die down. Glancing up, the boy's blood froze. The metal tank wasn't the only thing rusted beyond repair. He hadn't noticed it earlier, focused purely on the prime objective, but one of the suspensions on the aerial catwalk was severely compromised. Each shift on the catwalk caused the rusted metal to squeal as it grated against the harder steel. Any sudden movement would enough to cause it to snap completely.

With wide eyes and deliberate, calm motions, Stiles peeked back down at his friends. If they were curious as to why he stopped hammering, they didn't say anything. They weren't even watching him. He figured out why after looking into the Chupacabra pit.

Having recovered from their traumatizing ordeal, the creatures were finally on their feet and very, _very_ irritated. The sheer spitting and hissing produced from the pit was enough to drown out Stiles' pounding heartbeat. The Chupacabras also evidently learned a new trick with their tails. With a simple flick of the tail, a dozen spikes flew from the tip and embedded themselves into the concrete walls of the hole. They were learning and it was only a matter of time before they figured out how to use their tails more effectively. More fatally.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles braced himself and brought the iron rod forcefully down on the worn bolt. With a terrible scraping sound, the seam split, causing part of the tank itself to tear from the larger, suspended unit. The water was only a few milliseconds behind the falling metal.

One of the monsters looked up at its impending doom and shrieked, flinging its tail in panic. Sharp projectiles flew in the air and instinctively Stiles dove down to avoid the potential impalement. He felt his shoulder bash forcefully against the metallic base of the catwalk while his cheek scraped against the gritty treads. Stiles groggily pulled himself to his feet with one hand wrapped firmly around the handrails when a jarring screeching caused him to look up. He wasn't sure what was worse: the sound—like nails against a chalkboard—or the sight of the rusted suspension rod finally snapping.

The catwalk lurched beneath his feet and Stiles couldn't hold on any longer. His trembling hands frantically flailed for a renewed grip, but the cool metal slipped out of the grasp of his sweaty palms. He felt himself tip backwards, but there was no guardrail to catch him this time.

He was falling.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!** Please let me know what you think about this! We'll get to the real meat of the story in the next few chapters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** Chapter two! Hopefully the first chapter didn't scare you guys away. Like always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Even if it's just a review saying "gud."

* * *

_"Stiles!"_

He winced as the banshee's terrified scream ripped through his own jumbled panic.

_She's going to kill me. I can't believe I actually_ fell.

He could imagine his epitaph now: _Stiles Stilinksi. Fell off a catwalk while fighting overgrown Mexican Gremlins after Lydia Martin told him not to. Way to go, dumbass._

Stile was unable to scrap together any more coherent thoughts before he felt something cold and wet give away against his back.

_The water?_ However, the temporarily relief of not splatting on the concrete floor in a thousand pieces of Stiles was quickly overwhelmed with the panic that he was now sinking in several feet of water. The sharp impact of hitting the water with his upper back forced air out of his windpipe, causing the boy to gasp, inhaling a mouthful of rusty water. He tried to cough, but all that came out was a wet sputter.

"Stiles!" Lydia's shriek sounded strange to his pounding, water filed ears. There was another sound he couldn't place—that same terrible screeching he heard earlier.

Stiles tried to suck in another breath of air, but only managed to take another bubbly gulp of the brown tinted water sloshing against his face. His feet kicked underneath him as he tried to find the ground, but the pit was deeper than he anticipated and he was too disoriented. Stiles forced his arms to keep him afloat in a poor imitation of the last time he was in a pool without his swim trunks. Although the lack of Kanima was nice, the overwhelming smell of wet mutt was just as bad. He felt something wet and matted brush against his flailing arm. His chest ached with an impending panic attack—or maybe it was just his brain shutting down because he was _freaking drowning _next to were-porcupines_._ What a way to go.

A trembling hand appeared in the corner of his darkening vision. He tried to reach towards it, but his waterlogged sleeve was too heavy to lift.

"Look out!"

Scott's arm disappeared with startled cry as two pairs of hands on the alpha's shoulders yanked him backwards. Derek's typically blank expression wavered with uncertainty as he stared above their heads. He hesitated, almost as if he was about to jump in after the human, when—

The entire section of the rusted catwalk began to fall. With a low moan and shudder, the last suspension rod was unable to support one of the sections of the catwalk. The audible _snap_ as the compromised metal broke sent involuntary shudders down the human's spine. Stiles barely managed a faint squawk before the rusted floor panel and accompanying handrails dropped from the ceiling, shattering the already tumultuous surface of the water. In a panicked attempt to avoid the worst of the metal, Stiles tried to push back against the concrete wall to the other side of the pool, but collided into something foul and hissing.

Something heavy caught his right side at a surprising speed, forcing him to the bottom of the pool and knocking the limited breath from his lungs. The sharp pain of something pinning his lower abdomen caused the boy to gasp involuntarily, sucking in even more metallic water. His leaden hands scrabbled weakly against the metal, but he was unable to slip away with his waning human strength.

He was vaguely aware of the splashes above him as darkness crowded his vision.

* * *

_Stiles! No!_ Scott watched, horrified and helpless, as his best friend disappeared under the rusted catwalk. Even before the dust and water had settled, Scott leapt into the pool. Taking only a quick gulp of air, Scott dropped in the water, ignoring his pounding heartbeat echoing in his skull. He had only one thing on his mind.

Once his vision cleared and he adjusted to the murky water, the alpha's burning eyes scanned the bottom of the pool.

_There!_

Stiles was pinned along the bottom by part of the catwalk's grated floor panel. A metallic scent overwhelmed his senses and for a moment he feared his best friend was seriously injured. However, he was quickly able to distinguish between the metallic rust and his friend's blood, noting that the boy was only bleeding from superficial scrapes along his palms and knees. Scott could hear the faint and sluggish sound of Stiles' heartbeat.

Three splashes from above confirmed that Derek and the twins had joined him. Their faces were temporarily confused and worried until they too figured out the cause of the unnatural, foreboding scent of metal. Scott gestured towards the broken catwalk pinning Stiles down and the twins nodded. Bracing their feet against the bottom of the pool, they pulled up on the handrail. Streams of bubbles from the effort trickled from their mouths and they were only able to lift the metal death trap after Derek took a spot next to Ethan.

As soon as the catwalk had moved enough for Scott to slide Stiles out, they were ready to go. Wrapping his arms underneath the pale boy's armpits, Scott kicked off from the concrete base and surged towards the surface in a trail of oxygen-deprived bubbles. The moment their heads broke the surface, both boys sputtered as they gulped the tainted oxygen. Despite the lingering metallic taste, it was the sweetest air either of them had inhaled.

"You,,,okay…dude?" Scott panted, tightening his grip on the human.

"'eah," Stiles coughed back with a heavy dip of his head. Seconds later, the other werewolves' heads appeared, all three of them breathing heavily. Even Derek looked mildly relieved at the sight of the human's open, albeit fluttering eyes. "But can we please…get out before I permanently smell like…wet dog?"

Scott grinned and resisted the childish urge to dunk or splash his friend. Stiles was perfectly fine.

As soon as he towed Stiles to the edge of the pool, immediately Allison and Lydia reached down to help the trembling human out of the pool. As soon as his unsteady hands and knees hit the dry concrete, Stiles jerked his head to the side and gagged, releasing the metallic water that he had accidentally inhaled. He suppressed a groan at the searing pain in his abdomen from his forceful expulsion of the water. Stiles had a feeling a bruise was already starting to form—and not the flattering kind. Trying not to collapse in a pile of exhausted limbs, Stiles slowly wiped his wet mouth with his equally wet sleeve before crawling back towards the others.

He heard grunts and wet slithering sounds beside him as the other werewolves climbed out of the pool. Stiles half expected them to shake like a dog to dislodge the water from their facial fur. Instead, Derek pushed back his wet hair and hovered behind Scott while the twins watched from a comfortable, yet still close distance. The Chupacabras were mildly paddling around in the pool, seemingly content again.

"Better?" Now that the danger seemed to have passed, a faint smile crept across the alpha's face. Tiny rivulets of the pool water trickled down the teen's face from his damp hair. He tried not to think they could just as easily have been tears if the situation had been different.

Stiles heaved another rattling sigh. "Feels like a massive weight has been lifted off my chest." He paused, glancing towards a pale Lydia. Her green eyes were rimmed in smudged mascara. Obviously, the girl had been terrified. "Though, I wouldn't have minded some CPR…" he trailed off, leaving the insinuation open-ended. Aiden didn't even bother to feel threatened by the pale, dripping human.

"It's good you didn't need it," Lydia snapped, rubbing in vain at her ruined makeup. "I would have let you die after you lied to me."

_Lied about what? Oh, right. Falling. _

"S-Sorry, L-Lydia…" Stiles murmured through chattering teeth. Now that the adrenaline from almost dying had ceased to sizzle through his veins, the boy could feel the combined blows of the icy water, his damp clothes, and the rising chill from the warehouse floor. Immediately Allison pulled off her jacket, one of the last few pieces of dry clothing, and draped it around the shivering boy like a cape.

Derek lifted an eyebrow. "We have to get you some dry clothes."

"Y-Yeah," Stiles shuddered, his words coming out choppy and sarcastic. "I don't have y-your freaky in-internal wolf fur-furnaces." His trembling fingers fluttered by the edges of his damp jacket, trying to pull it closer to his shaking core.

Scott mashed his lips together, catching the boy's icy hands with his own warm grip. The water had made the tiny cuts in the boy's palms to run crimson as if his injuries had been exposed to the Chupacabra venom.

"Did you hit your head when the catwalk fell?"

Stiles resisted the urge to groan. He had a feeling this would come up. "I don't need to go to the hospital."

"Well, we're taking Isaac anyway, just in case."

"That rust can't be good if it gets in your bloodstream," Derek observed, staring down at the boy from over Scott's shoulder.

Lydia agreed, citing a tetanus shot as the only surefire way of being certain. "Better safe than sorry," she added maliciously. Stiles somehow got the feeling that _he_ was the one being punished, despite almost drowning.

Scott grinned. "Don't worry, dude. I'll get my mom to find the smallest needle." The human's leveling glare did little to dim the alpha's bright expression.

_This is why I quit swimming. _

* * *

If Isaac hadn't still been swaying on his feet, Stiles had a feeling that either Scott or even Derek would have insisted on helping the human to the car. Instead, the boy was able to manage an undignified, waterlogged shuffle towards his jeep, holding his upper body taunt and upright to avoid putting any unneeded pressure on his abdomen. He settled comfortably in the driver's seat and dug in his still jean pockets for the keys.

However, before he had the chance to start the engine, Scott plucked the keys from the human's hands. Despite vivid vocal protesting from Stiles, the alpha wolf simply refused to let the compromised human drive. Scott cited it as a precaution just in case Stiles was still suffering hidden complications from the ordeal. Stiles knew it was to make sure he went to the hospital. Derek gently loaded Isaac in the backseat and nodded to Scott before turning back towards the warehouse.

"I take it he isn't joining us?"

Scott shook his head and started the car. "Derek and the twins are taking care of the Chupacabras. Relocating them or something."

"And Allison and Lydia?"

"I don't know."

Stiles glanced in the rearview mirror at the younger werewolf's pale face. They would most likely see Allison at the hospital. For Isaac.

He decided to change the subject. "That water was frickin' freezing." Scott nodded his agreement as he gently backed the jeep up and turned onto the main road. "Way worse than when your boss had us go in those ice baths to act as sacrifices."

Scott's lip quirked up. "We were in ice water cold enough to _kill_ us and send us to a supernatural realm in our subconscious."

"But this water tasted like licking a rusty nail."

"Dude, you aren't supposed to taste the water when you're drowning. That's like rule number one."

"I'll remember that for the next time I'm pinned by a falling catwalk while fighting mangy Chupacabras." Although his shuddering had reduced significantly after Lydia offered him an emergency blanket from her car, he was now starting to sniffle. "If I survived all this and end up dying from pneumonia, that'll suck."

Scott rolled his eyes again. The two of them chattered about Chupacabras and lacrosse and Lydia's emergency blanket for the remaining drive to the hospital. Scott parked the jeep in the closest spot, turned off the engine, and surveyed the condition of his friends. Within seconds, Lydia pulled up next to them with Allison in the passenger seat.

"I know this is the emergency room entrance, but still. Anyone in the hospital who isn't up on the latest edition of Werewolf Weekly is going to wonder why a couple of teenage boys are wearing shredded, bloody shirts and are still capable of walking," Stiles glanced back at a still ashen faced Isaac, "or at least sort of standing. You kind of look like hell," he added in the boy's direction.

"Says the drowned rat," coughed Isaac from the backseat, clearly finding the strength to defend himself from Stiles' accusation.

"We'll just sneak in through the side entrance. I already texted my mom about it and she's waiting for us."

Stiles smiled thinly through pressed lips. He had a feeling there was a tetanus shot waiting for him inside.

* * *

Stiles could tell that Melissa was itching to ask about their latest adventure, but she said nothing as she ushered the children into a free hospital room. Even the sight of Isaac's shredded shirt and Scott's stained jeans did not provoke any curious questions.

"Alright, so what do we got here then?"

Scott gestured towards Isaac. "Not sure what you can do for him, but the thing we fought had something in its venom that stopped his healing."

"A natural anticoagulant," Lydia chimed in, repeating the phrase again.

Melissa nodded. "Got it. I can give him something to help the blood to clot. Hopefully it'll be enough to jumpstart the healing process, but I can always do stitches."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Ms. McCall," Isaac interrupted hastily. "I think it's already starting to heal."

_What is it with teenage boys and their aversion to medicine?_ Biting her cheek to stop her growing smile, she turned to Stiles. "Scott told me what happened to you already." Stiles wondered when his best friend had the chance to give such a thorough recap of their injuries to his mom. She slipped a penlight out of her pocket and shined it in the human's eyes, studying the gentle contraction and dilation of his pupils.

"Any nausea or vomiting?"

"Only when I coughed up a lung puree." Melissa suppressed the growing desire to ask about their adventure, especially after noticing her son's and Stiles' soaking clothes. She had meant to grab spare clothes for her two favorite boys, but the werewolves' horrid appearance forced her to usher the teens in the closest room before anyone saw.

"Headaches or dizziness? Double vision? Trouble breathing?"

Stiles shook his head.

"Are you lying to me?"

The boy considered the question for a moment, self-gauging the sensations in his head.

"No," he responded truthfully.

"Good," Melissa flicked the switch on her miniature flashlight and tucked it back in her scrubs. "I think you probably safe on the head injury front. We can do tes—"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Stiles repeated Isaac's previous statement.

"Well, here's the last thing then," she announced, picking up a capped needle on the side table. "You probably haven't had the booster in more than ten years, right? Before kindergarten?" Stiles nodded glumly. "Then which shoulder do you want it?"

_Probably the one that I didn't fall on. _Stiles sighed and shrugged off his damp jacket and t-shirt, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious of his chilled, bare skin in front of Allison and _Lydia._ Melissa sucked in a deep breath at the sight of the boy's bruised chest. Stiles glanced down and frowned. Already deep violet had begun to blossom across his lower abdomen from where the catwalk had pinned him. He knew his injury would bruise, but he hadn't expected the colors to be so _vibrant._

"Stiles, I _really_ think we should check that out to make sure you don't have interna—"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he echoed. He didn't like the horrified way his friends were staring at him. It made him feel like some spectacle.

"I'm scheduling a CT scan just to be sure," Melissa overrode the boy's loud assurances that it was nothing more than a bruise. Sensing it was easier to simply accept his fate, the boy sighed and nodded.

"Fine, sure. Can I just get the shot now so I can put my shirt back on? It's freezing in here." Melissa frowned at the boy's slight shivers, feeling bad for accidentally denying him warm clothes. _Well, he can change into a hospital gown when he gets the tests done. Might as well scan for head trauma while we're at it. _

"Sure thing, kiddo," Melissa answered, uncapping the shot and bringing the syringe in sight of the human. Although he hated needles, Stiles always preferred seeing the point going in. Simply one of the strange facts she had picked up over the years regarding her son's best friend.

Color returned to Stiles' thinly pressed lips as Melissa removed the needle and tossed the entire complex in the medical waste bin. She glanced at the gathered teens behind her and noticed their eyelids were becoming increasingly heavy. Even the pale boy beside her was too tired to offer his typical Stiles quips. They were all exhausted.

"Stiles? Melissa?" Upon recognizing the voice, Stiles instantly slipped on his damp jacket to cover the bruises. He couldn't let his father see them.

Sheriff Stilinksi's concerned face appeared around the doorframe and softened into a relieved smile at the sight of his son, who seemed relatively unscathed.

"Sheriff," Melissa smiled and stepped back, allowing the sheriff to get closer to his son. Stiles froze, hoping for the sake of his gut that his father wouldn't hug him this one time. However, instead of wrapping his son in a tight embrace, the sheriff offered the boy a tiny, dark rectangle with elevated brows.

Stiles' phone.

"Ahh, I was looking for that," the boy tittered weakly.

"Could have come in handy," Lydia snorted delicately. For the first time, the sheriff seemed to realize that others were in the room as well.

"Lydia? Allison? _Isaac_?" He didn't seem particularly surprised to see Scott, but the sight of a severely battered Isaac startled the sheriff. He turned back to his son, dreading the answer.

"What did you get yourselves into?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Being pinned under a submerged catwalk while trying to battle mangy Chupacabras."

Sheriff Stilinksi blinked once, struggling to comprehend what his son was trying to tell him. It sounded like a joke, but he knew better then to laugh.

Stiles slipped off the examining table and automatically tucked his dry phone in his wet pocket. "I'll explain later, but can we please get home? I really need to get into some dry clothes. And get something to eat."

The sheriff nodded bemusedly and followed his son. The two were already out of the room before Melissa realized what Stiles had just done. Used his dad to get out of the CT scan.

_The kid's good._

She shook her head good-naturedly, hearing their chattering voices fade in the distance. She hoped everything would be okay. If not, Melissa trusted the boy to come back for help if he suspected anything was genuinely wrong.

Turning back to the remaining teens, Melissa clapped her hands and smiled. "Alright. I'm going to take my midnight snack break and you all have school tomorrow."

* * *

He pulled into the driveway only a few seconds before his dad. The headlights on the sheriff's squad car flared in the rearview mirror, temporarily blinding Stiles. Then the lights dimmed and the soft hum of the car behind him shut off as his dad slipped out of the driver's side.

Stiles was grateful that he had to drive his jeep home, otherwise he would have gotten the third degree interrogation burn from his dad all the way from the hospital. Stiles was too tired to come up with any good lies, much less remember them in the morning. He resolved to tell his dad eventually, maybe, but Sheriff Stilinski didn't need to know the details immediately. Stiles understood that his dad was concerned for his reckless son's wellbeing, but Stiles was alive and that was good enough for the moment.

Although he was starving, the first thing Stiles really wanted to do when he got inside was take a long, hot shower. He also figured this would hinder any more difficult questions. When he slid of out the driver's seat and made his way to the front door, his dad was already waiting for him. The porch light silhouetted the sheriff's profile and Stiles had a difficult time making out his expression.

"So, Chupacabras you said…?"

"Yep," Stiles answered flippantly, slipping past his father. "You won't have to worry about drained livestock anymore."

"Thank God," Stiles heard the man mutter behind him. "Do you know how many people sent calls in, saying their dogs were killed by vampires?"

"About as many who complain about the werewolves in the compost?" Stiles could only guess on the number. Ironically, for all of the supernatural creatures they had come across, vampires had yet to step foot in Beacon Hills. Perhaps they were too busy terrorizing people elsewhere.

Stiles crossed into the kitchen, snagging some piece of fruit in the darkness. His father followed him, flipping the light on as he entered the room.

"I saw Isaac and Scott, but why was Melissa bandaging you up when I got there?" Stiles felt his father's scrutinizing stare as the man tried to figure out what was wrong with his son.

Desperate for time to stall, Stiles quickly bit a sizable chunk from the fruit, not noticing it was an unpeeled orange.

_Damn. _

Sheriff Stilinksi blinked patiently with an unreadable expression on his face as Stiles spat out the chewed rind in the trash. He rarely questioned anything his son did anymore and it frightened him slightly that he had gotten so used to Stiles being _Stiles._

"Do you need me to repeat the question or have you come up with a good cover story?"

Stiles smiled sheepishly, revealing pieces of the stubborn rind still caught in his incisors. "Nothing serious, Dad. I just accidentally bumped my head and Scott freaked out about it. There wasn't even any blood. And Melissa completely cleared me, so it's fine. Honest."

The sheriff eyed his son for a moment before sighing. "Alright. I sort of believe you." He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, trying to think of anything else to say before shaking his head. It had been a long day and he wanted to get to bed just as badly as his son. "Well, don't stay up too late. You have school in the morning."

"Right. Night, Dad."

The man paused on his way out of the kitchen. "And Stiles?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Next time, come up with a better diversion than biting into a raw orange. You got juice everywhere."

Stiles glanced down at the mangled, dripping fruit in his hands. Definitely not one of his better plans.

* * *

Stiles couldn't remember a time where he had been so completely thrilled to take a shower. Shrugging off his damp jacket, he let the garment fall to the floor with a satisfying _splat_. His shoulders ached from the twin brutality of falling on the catwalk and the tetanus shot. His undershirt was probably still at the hospital. He had been so frantic to hide his bruises and get out before the CT scan that he left it there on the hospital bed.

Stiles stared at his reflection for a moment, prodding gently at the violet bruises. The right side of his body still seemed a bit puffy, but the swelling had gone down considerably from a few hours ago.

_Like I said. Nothing to worry about. _

Stiles gently peeled the rest of his clothes off and slipped into the steaming shower, gasping as his chilled bones finally began to warm again.

_This is so much better than that rust pool._

Maybe if he scrubbed thoroughly enough, he could get rid of that damn wet dog smell.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Not a thing.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay on this. I know this is just a simple little fanfic story with no real importance to the canon-verse, but I've been working hard to make this as medically and scientifically accurate as possible. The amount of medical journals I've trudged through on blunt abdominal trauma induced appendicitis is astounding, but since I've never experienced BAT induced appendicitis, I figured actual case files may be the best way to go. Completely fascinating.  
I also wanted to thank everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, and read the past chapter. I was completely blown away by the response. **THANK YOU SO MUCH!** You guys are absolutely amazing. As for the length of this fic, I'm planning for it to be about three or four more chapters.

* * *

Waking up that morning was not a pleasant experience. Stiles pried his eyes open and instantly regretted it. His vision swam for a moment as the dawn light singed his retinas. He blinked at the ceiling, wondering why it hurt to stare at nothing, but his sleep-addled brain credited the pain to his limited hours of rest.

_Time to get up, I guess…_

Rolling out of the bed was the second bad decision of the day.

The sudden pain as the boy turned to his side caught him off guard for a moment. Unable to stop his momentum, he tumbled over the edge of the bed with a panicked squawk.

_Dammit! _

Hitting the ground while tangled in his too-warm comforter hurt even more. He automatically drew his knees in with a ragged breath, trying to force the throbbing in his gut away with soft pants.

He remained on the floor for a moment longer, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He held his breath for a moment, expecting his father to burst into the room to investigate the loud commotion, but the stairs didn't creak.

_He's probably gone or just figured I fell out of my bed again. _

It was not an uncommon occurrence in the Stilinksi household.

After another lapse of silence, Stiles took another steadying breath and carefully untangled his sweaty legs from his comforter. Wincing as he propped his back against his bed, the boy lifted up his shirt and gingerly prodded the pulsing bruise on his lower right abdomen. The discoloration looked much fainter, but the pain seemed to radiate from his navel to his hipbone.

"Ouch," he muttered, poking the bruise again for good measure. However, instead of dwelling on the daunting implications of internal bruising, Stiles chalked the injury up to an unavoidable casualty when running with wolves. He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt and tried to ignore the dizzyiness in his head.

"That's so the last time I join them on their little midnight scavenger hunts," the boy muttered, knowing full and well that he would still be out the next night they needed his help. "Let them get some other stupid human to join them."

* * *

Stiles was grateful for his jeep. He couldn't imagine getting to school by any other way that required more physical movement than rotating hands at ten and sometimes two. As he listened to his shuddering engine's dying drone, he brushed the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead. He blinked at the tiny glistening drops, shocked to be sweating towards the end of winter. He had driven to school with the windows down, relishing the crisp fresh air, but he still seemed to be overheated.

Stiles sneezed, which further aggravated his painfully throbbing abdomen, and immediately groaned.

_I can't believe I caught a cold from that water. That must be why everything hurts._

Still, having an illness that fit his symptoms was comforting. The feverish tinge to his cheeks and faint nausea of a simple cold were ailments much more manageable than some disastrous allergic reaction to the previous day's tetanus shot. A bowl of warm soup at lunch would be more than enough to fix everything up, even though the thought of eating made the human doubly nauseous.

Stiles sighed and gathered his books, slinging his bag carefully over his left shoulder despite the residual twinge from the shot. His gut felt much worse than the tiny pinprick, so he favored his right side even though his entire body ached.

"Stiles!"

The human turned his head and smiled at his best friend.

"Hey, Sco—" Stiles stopped mid-greeting at noticing his friend's visibly worried expression. "Everything okay, dude? You look kind of exhausted."

"I could say the same for you. You didn't answer your phone. I kept calling last night to check if you were alright."

"Sorry, man," Stiles dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, squinting at his flushed reflection on the blank screen. "I got a shower and then went straight to bed. I don't know why it didn't say anything…" Stiles trailed off, his frown deepening when the phone didn't turn on. "Huh…"

Scott glanced over the boy's shoulder and made an indescribable noise in the back of his throat.

"I think your phone is broken, dude."

Stiles clicked his tongue irately against the inside of his teeth. He didn't need the alpha's super werewolf senses to know that. "Oh, man. I think you're right. It must've gotten soaked in my jeans when my dad gave it back to me last night." He blinked at the defunct phone, dreading the "I need a new phone because I stuck my old one in wet pants like a complete dumbass" talk he needed to have with his father.

"I guess that explains why I didn't answer then."

He couldn't even blame the broken device on the damn Chupacabras.

Scott rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "First leaving it at the station and then drowning it? Finally you put your phone out of its misery." He nudged the boy playfully in the ribs, causing the human to inhale deeply through his teeth.

"Woah, are you okay?" The alpha yanked his arm back as if he had knocked over a porcelain doll.

Stiles let out a short puff of controlled breath. He closed his eyes and reopened them slowly, smiling at his friend. "Yeah, fine. Just a little sore from last night. No supernatural healing, remember?"

Stiles immediately felt guilty after seeing his best friend's kicked puppy expression. "Hey, no big deal though. I'll just be a little bit slower on the lacrosse field today. Well, slower than my usual snail pace." He forced his pained grimace into a wider grin and Scott's tentative smile gradually returned.

The boy hesitated before speaking again. "But are you sure you want to play today? I could always just tell Coach that you got sick or something." He leaned forward in a blatant violation of Stiles' personal space—something all the wolves had gotten annoyingly good at—and inhaled loudly.

Stiles jerked backwards, fluttering his hands in the space between them. "Dude, _cut it out_. You don't want a repeat of practice last year when you sniffed everyone. The damage control I had to do for that was insa—"

"You sure you're okay? You smell different."

"You got me. I didn't brush my teeth for the full two minutes today."

"I'm serious, Stiles. I think I smell something wrong."

"As weird as this sounds—and I can't believe I'm going along with this—what does it _smell_ like?"

The werewolf wrinkled his nose. He was still adjusting to his new true alpha powers and hadn't gotten used to the superiorly heightened smells. "I don't know. Bad."

"Wonderful," Stiles sighed gustily and turned towards the school.

Scott trailed behind the human, taking another cursory sniff when he thought his best friend wouldn't notice.

Stiles noticed.

He suppressed the urge to groan, wondering how the werewolf would have ever survived without him. The kid was utterly hopeless.

* * *

Lydia did not look impressed as the boy gingerly lowered himself into his seat. She narrowed her eyes at the brunet and looked away, determined to ignore him as punishment. Evidentially she was still furious at him for breaking his promise on falling the night before.

Isaac's direct greeting was even less welcoming.

"You smell bad."

"You're the second person to tell me that today." Stiles rooted through his bag, cringing when he had to lean forward to grab the pencil that had settled on the bottom. "I can take a hint. Tone down on the cologne, right?"

Isaac leaned forward and casually sniffed the back of the boy's neck.

Stiles sighed, not even bothering to try to shove the werewolf away. "We so need to have some sort of intervention about personal spac—"

"I don't know what it is," the werewolf continued, frowning at the unfamiliar scent. "It smells bad," he repeated.

"First Scott and now you too. Maybe it's a pack thing. Socially cripple the human."

"Scott smelled it too?" Lydia was unable to maintain her stony indifference for long, turning back to the boys with curious glint in her eyes.

Stiles nodded and recapped what had happened in his earlier conversation with the alpha. "So, he sniffed me in the middle of the parking lot and told me I smelled bad, but he couldn't say much more than that," the teen finished.

"Maybe it's just your natural human stench," Isaac offered with a casual shrug.

"That's great, coming from a mangy pincushion." The werewolf bristled as the insult, but remained silent. Healing from the Chupacabras' venom had resulted in a long and painful night.

"You do look more sickly than usual," Lydia added matter-of-factly with a tilt of the head.

Stiles shot her a flat stare. "These annoyingly cryptic insults are great for a guy's confidence. Thank you. Very much." Stiles paused and weighed his next words before caving with a sigh. "I'm fine though. Honestly. It's probably just a cold."

Isaac narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but he did not comment on Stiles admission.

"Maybe you guys are just smelling leftover Chupacabra musk or something."

* * *

Stiles really wished he could have taken Scott up on his offer to cover for him during lacrosse practice, but actually skipping practice would only further alert the werewolf that something was wrong. The human's head pounded with each controlled breath and he could barely focus on the conversations around him without feeling the overwhelming urge to grip his pulsing abdomen and roll around screaming on the tiled floor of the lunchroom. Even the tempting smell of cafeteria chowder was too much for him, threatening to force the teen to purge his dinner from the night before.

If anyone noticed his reluctance to eat during lunch, no one mentioned it then or in the following classes, leaving Stiles thoroughly miserable on his trek to the locker room.

The flushed teen's expression caused Danny to pause on his way out the door.

"You okay, man? You look kind of…not good."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Stiles forced a smile. Danny eyed the boy for a moment longer before disappearing towards the field.

Scott was already dressed when the sickly teen sulked to his locker. He had obviously overheard the humans' conversation. Despite Stiles' attempt to shield his body from the werewolf's concerned gaze with his locker door, the alpha still managed to catch the flash of discolored flesh as Stiles gingerly tugged the shirt over his head.

"That still looks bad."

Stiles glanced down and shrugged. "Believe me—it's much better than it was." Scott looked unconvinced and tried again to persuade the human to abandon practice for the day.

"I'm serious, Stiles. I can just go tell Coach that you're sick. I mean, I can say I sent you home. You know…captain's orders."

"I'm fine, Scott," Stiles insisted, gently slipping his lacrosse pads over his tender shoulders. He wished the padding extended further, guarding the rest of his chest and gut from the inevitable slew of poorly aimed balls. "I'll feel better once I get on the field." The boy waved his arms and the momentum caused him to ram a shoulder into the locker doors. He winced as the pain radiated up and down his side, causing Scott's narrowed gaze to tighten.

"I don't beli—" the werewolf started lowly before Coach's high-pitched whistle cut him off.

"McCall! Stilinksi! Get on the field! You can have your little gossip fest after practice."

"Right, Coach," Stiles answered quickly, shoving his helmet over his sweaty bangs and swallowing the rising dizzy swell threatening to topple him. He didn't mind the sweltering constriction of the helmet, as it blocked his face from Scott's scrutinizing gaze, but the nausea was a bit of a pain.

_Literally_.

* * *

As the teen had predicted, practice that day was like trudging through hell.

Although the weather was cool, Stiles got no relief from his feverish flush. He was broiling in his helmet, marinated by his own toxic sweat. He could barely focus on the ball's position, swinging and missing enough to prompt Coach to comment on Stiles stranger-than-usual behavior.

"Stilinski! You're making me regret putting you on first line!"

"Stilinski! The point of the game is to _catch _the ball—_not throw it at your own goalie's face mask!"_

"Stilinski! I'm getting dizzy just watching you stumble around the field! Go sit down or something. I don't know. Go somewhere else and come back when you can walk in a straight line."

Gritting his teeth in embarrassment at the team's snickers, Stiles staggered to the water bench and ripped off his helmet, panting in the crisp late winter air. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this screwed up, but a kanima was probably involved.

Within a few moments, Coach's shrill whistle announced a brief respite and Scott was the first one to the water bench.

"Don't you dare say it. _Don't. You. Dare._"

"I told you so. I said you were too sick to play. It really showed, dude."

"God, that sounds awful when you say it," Stiles made a face at the werewolf. "I'm not playing any differently than I usually do, by the way. I'm usually this terrible."

"You threw the ball at Danny's face mask."

"You're supposed to throw the balls at the goal. It's how you score."

"Not at your _own_ goalie."

Stiles bit his lip, opened his mouth to argue, and promptly shut it.

"I may have been a bit turned around," he admitted with mashed lips.

"A bit?"

Isaac appeared over Scott's shoulder and wrinkled his nose. "You smell worse than you did this morning."

"We really need to work on your personal skills. Especially when it comes to greetings. For example, some people say _hello._"

Scott pulled off his helmet, shoved back his sweaty bangs, and took another deep breath. "You're right, Isaac," he echoed, surprised by the scent. He had only smelt the boy's fever and sweat, but now there was something stronger. Something toxic.

"What is that?" Isaac tilted his head, studying Stiles as if he were a medical patient instead of a very affronted teenage boy. "What's that smell?" he asked the alpha.

"Not sure, but we probably should take him to the hospital. Or maybe to Derek. Maybe it's something to do with the Chupacabras."

"I'm still right here, you know. Stiles has not left the conversation yet."

"But why am I not affected then? Those things were closer to me than they were to Stiles."

"Not sure," Scott repeated, hating the uncertainty behind the two syllables.

Stiles was about to exasperatedly remind them again of his presence when Coach's whistle interrupted their conversation. Before Scott could stop him, Stiles stuffed the helmet back on his head.

"Stiles, _no,_" the alpha hissed, but the boy continued towards the lacrosse huddle, completely ignoring the werewolf's furious muttering.

"He's an idiot," Isaac commented, watching as the human's jersey number disappeared amongst the crowd.

Scott closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. He could still smell the lingering scent of whatever was plaguing Stiles, but he couldn't place it.

"You have no idea," he sighed. The human was utterly hopeless.

It was a simple drill with only minimal physical contact. The offensive player merely had to get past the defender before the latter could check him with a faint tap.

Still, Stiles couldn't help but feel apprehensive as he lined up for the dash. His head and feet weren't quite in agreement and his eyes could barely focus on even one of his double visions.

Coach's blaring whistle cut through his jumbled thoughts and his legs were moving sluggishly towards the defender. He moved automatically, as if someone else was controlling him.

Unfortunately, this omnipotent controller weren't pressing the buttons fast enough. Stiles saw the defender's stick move in slow motion, but he wasn't quick enough to spin out of the way. Although the strike bounced off his chest pads with a muted _thump,_ it was jarring enough to send the teen spiraling down to the ground.

Stiles suppressed the urge to scream as fire laced up and down his abdomen, dragging an invisible dagger from his navel to his hipbone. He curled into himself, arching his back in an attempt to make his body as small as possible. Suddenly the writhing, twisting sickness he had been holding back in his stomach loosened. He fumbled with his helmet for a few moments before the bile bubbled out of his mouth. Each shuddering retch triggered more pain to swell in his gut, overwhelming his senses and nearly spurring him into a panic attack.

"Stiles!" Firm hands tried to straighten him out but the boy refused, curling tighter within himself.

As soon as the gags subsided, the pain quickly dissipated to a manageable level. Stiles panted into the grass and carefully let his best friend pull him into a seated position.

"Stiles… Oh my God…" Scott's worried face flickered in and out of the human's spinning vision.

"I swear…if you say 'I told you so' right now…"

Coach appeared, flustered and pale as he observed the trembling teen on the lacrosse field. "Stilinski…? Do you need us to call someone? The CDC perhaps?"

Stiles smiled weakly, his face shining with a sickly sheen. "No need, Coach." Scott shot him a narrowed glare, prompting the boy to continue. "But maybe I should go see the nurse?"

"Right. Uh. Alright. McCall! Take Stilinski to the nurse!"

Scott nodded quickly, tucking an arm under Stiles' armpit and hoisting him gently onto his feet.

"They might need more help, Coach," Isaac broke through the gathered crowd and stood by Stiles' other side.

"Fine. Go with them, Lahey. It's not like we can have practice anymore today anyway," he muttered, eyeing Stiles' recent contribution to the field.

"Sorry, Coach," Stiles slurred before the werewolves helped him shuffle towards the school.

"We aren't actually going to the nurse, are we?" Isaac was the first to break the tense silence. Stiles' putrid scent was growing stronger, as was the alpha's obvious anxiety. The unease was contagious.

"No," Stiles sighed, turning in the direction of his jeep. "We're going to see if Derek has any ideas on what this is."

"_Finally_. A good idea for once."

* * *

**Thank you for reading!** I hope you enjoyed this third chapter. Let me know what you think!  
(Also, as a side note, I've been working on a behemoth of a oneshot for the past few weeks. Like 20k+ big of a one shot exploring the StilesScott relationship. Let me know if you're interested in seeing that sooner than it's expected release date!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note: **You guys are the absolute BEST! I was completely blown away by all the wonderful reviews and favorites and follows of this story. Every time I update, I'm just so excited because you guys are the best readers ever. Hopefully this chapter is worth your love.

* * *

"Oh my God. I think I'm going to _die._"

Stiles' condition had deteriorated rapidly on the seemingly endless drive to Derek's loft. Every jarring stop or bump in the road further inflamed the boy's intestines. Scott was too busy glancing to the side at his best friend to watch the road, leading to the driver taking far too many corners far too sharply.

Isaac eyed the boy's white-knuckled grip on the side of the jeep and bit his lip. His worried gaze darted from the human to the equally panicked alpha driving the vehicle.

"We're almost there, right?" Isaac knew the distance it took to get to Derek's loft probably better than Scott, but it still felt nice hearing the reassuring words.

"Just a few more minutes. Yeah," Scott grunted, barely catching the words behind him. There were simply too many things on his mind.

A muffled "thank God" came from the passenger side, accompanied by another grunt of pain.

"It can't be any worse than being sacrificed, right?" Isaac tittered nervously but immediately fell silent after catching the human's unimpressed glower. Stiles rolled his head back to stare longingly out the window, waiting for the telltale signs of Derek's loft.

With another panicked stream of curses, Scott yanked on the wheel and slammed the brakes as he skidded into two parking spots.

"Dude…" Stiles moaned, still fully capable of sorting his priorities. "She's way too—"

"Time to get you inside," the alpha interrupted, all but jumping out of the driver's side. Isaac scrambled after him, trying not to jostle the pale human as he shimmied out of the backseat. Scott yanked the passenger door—

—"Don't rip her door off! Serio—"

—and carefully unbuckled his friend. Scott's hand strayed on the boy's warm, flushed skin for a moment as he absorbed some of the pain.

"Ahh…ahhh…" the human gasped as the fire receded from his abdomen. "Don't take too much…_ahh_…"

"Just enough to get you inside," Scott grunted back, looping his arm around his friend's shoulder. He gently helped the boy slide out of the jeep, absorbing more of the pain when the human drew in a sharp breath.

Together they hobbled towards the service entrance, Scott carrying Stiles more so than guiding him. Isaac dropped his wringing hands and quickly punched the buttons to start the elevator. As the lift rose, they were greeted by silence instead of the Hale's alarm.

"I called Derek to let him know," Isaac added to break the silence.

"Good thinking," Scott nodded, smiling weakly at the younger werewolf.

Best-case scenario: Derek would have just the thing to fix whatever the Chupacabras used to infect Stiles.

Worst-case scenario? Well, Scott didn't really want to think about that at the moment.

Derek met them at the door. His stoic expression changed to mild confusion then concern after catching a whiff of the sick human.

"Isaac said—what is tha—?"

"What half-dead creature did your wolves drag…in now…" Peter descended the staircase, flippantly waving his right hand until he caught sight of the wide-eyed three teens standing in the entrance. The older man's hand flopped to his side as he inhaled again. The man's nose wrinkled as he glanced from the alpha to his beta and then finally to the shaking human in the middle.

"What is that _smell_?"

Scott pressed his lips together and glanced back at his pale best friend. Stiles' skin still felt like it was on fire and beads of sweat had erupted along his matted brow.

"We think it's something to do with the Chupacabras," Scott stared at Derek, ignoring Peter's repetitive, incredulous questions in the background.

_ "Chupacab—"_

"The Chupacabras?" Derek echoed, eyebrows knitting neatly together. "What makes you think that?"

_ "When was there Chupaca—"_

Stiles wasn't particularly fond of unintentional staling. "Well, I felt just _peachy_ before then, so that's why," Stiles snapped irately, feeling the numbing pleasure of Scott's touch slowly dissipate. Either his friend had stopped sucking his pain, or his stomach was literally exploding. Both seemed entirely possible.

"He's feverish and has a lot of pain from where the catwalk landed on him. Do you think maybe some chemical or whatever from the Chupacabras got in his system?" Scott continued anxiously.

"That's a possibility," Derek mused, pursing his lips in deep thought. He lifted up Stiles' baggy shirt, inspecting the boy's wound on his abdomen. The bruising had gone down; however, the fleshy around his right side appeared to be puffy and swollen. He carefully prodded the human's gut, ignoring the human's hissed curses. If anything, he only pressed harder, eliciting another pained yelp.

Stiles would have swatted the werewolf away if every movement didn't feel like he was inhaling fire. "Your hands are cold," he settled for, spitting with as much malice as he could in the werewolf's general direction. Peter peered over his nephew's shoulder, eyeing the pulsing wound with his trademark rotten-egg expression.

"So, do you know what's wrong with him?" Isaac shuffled from foot to foot. He would never admit that he was genuinely worried for the loudmouth human…but still. He just wanted everyone to be happy and healthy and…_odorless_.

Derek dropped the shirt hem, letting the loose fabric drift back into place on its own. He exchanged a quick, tight-eyed glance with his uncle before shaking his head slowly.

"I've never seen—_or smelt_—anything like that," Peter admitted, shrugging with his palms splayed towards the teenagers.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Scott pressed eagerly. He tried to steal more of the human's pain, but he could tell he wasn't helping much.

"I don't know." Derek's blank gaze slid past Scott's shoulder, unable to look at the teenage alpha's furiously desperate expression.

"You must've seen this before though?"

"I don't _know_," the younger Hale repeated.

"That's _freaking _fantastic," Stiles gritted through his teeth, trying not to scream at each darting steak of agony to pierce his abdomen. "So now what? Emergency amputation at the waist? We can just call back Gerrard. He _loved_ cutting people in half."

At the mention of the crazed hunter, Scott's eyes lit up briefly. "Maybe there's something about this in the Bestiary!"

"Where? In the _spontaneous illnesses caused by goat sucking cryptids _section?" Stiles couldn't help the sarcastic quips from tumbling out of his mouth. He supposed it was better than anguished grunting and screeching. After all, it was only fair that they all be in pain.

"Allison might know. Maybe her dad's seen something like this before," Isaac spoke up quickly.

"That's a good idea." Still keeping one hand suspended around his best friend, Scott rooted through his pockets for his cell phone. After a moment of frenzied searching, he gave up with an irritated huff.

"Must've left it in my lacrosse locker…"

Despite his pounding headache and pulsing abdomen, Stiles lifted his eyebrows at the ashamed admission. Small victories were still victories after all.

"Don't you dare say it," he muttered to the human. The latter was unfortunately in too much pain to take the appropriate glee in the fact that Scott had forgotten his phone as well.

He settled for a simple shrug of one shoulder.

"Just a vicious cycle, isn't it?"

A faint ring echoed through the loft and Isaac immediately pawed at his pocket. He fumbled with his device for a moment before pressing it to his ear.

"Hello…?"

_ "Isaac? Are you with Scott right now?"_

"Allison?" The werewolf answered slowly, his gaze darting in Scott's direction to gauge the alpha's reaction. He had yet to tell his alpha _why_ exactly Allison now had his phone number. He hit the speaker button and held the phone in Scott's direction. "Uh, yeah."

"Scott! We've been trying to call you and Stiles for the past twenty minutes! Why haven't you answered?"

"We?"

"Do _either_ of you know that having the phone _on_ is the first step in _using_ it?" The sarcasm dripped through the line like honey. Derek didn't even have the decency to hide the amused lift of his eyebrow.

"Hey, Lydia…" Stiles murmured feebly, rightly guessing who the second person was.

"_I swear to God, Stiles_. If you don't answer your pho—"

"Allison!" Scott broke into the conversation, interrupting the banshee's ranting. "We think Stiles might have been infected by something from the Chupacabra. Do you know what it might be?"

"What are his symptoms?"

Scott glanced at Stiles' flushed and sweaty face. "Fever, pain around his abdomen—"

"Make that _severe_ pain. Also, drunk-goggles dizziness and a massive urge to heave."

"And he smells really bad. Like death bad."

"_Thanks_, Isaac. That _completely_ slipped my mind."

"This was a sudden onset?" Lydia added after a moment of consideration.

"Yeah," Stiles closed his eyes to concentrate, thinking back to when the pain first appeared. "My whole gut hurt after the catwalk incident, but the real pain didn't settle in until the next morning. Though don't bother checking WebMD—it isn't smallpox or stomach cancer," he added sarcastically.

There was a beat of silence on the phone and the gathered males glanced around at each other questioningly.

"Is the pain more so around your right side?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"Do…do you think you know what's wrong?" Scott ventured slowly.

There was another pause and a moment of hushed whispering as Lydia and Allison conversed on the other line.

"Did it ever occur to you that this might not be something supernatural?"

"What?" Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again. It never occurred to him. It hadn't occurred to _any_ of them.

"No," the alpha admitted. "I mean—it can't have just happened after twenty four hours. It _has _to be something…not human."

"Stiles, do you still have your appendix?"

"What? My appendi—oh… Yeah."

Derek blinked, glancing around at the equally confused werewolves. As a born werewolf, he had never experienced a majority of human illnesses. Peter seemed equally at loss.

_"Appendicitis?" _The older Hale blinked twice, unaccustomed to being out of his depth. He understood magical illness, but human ailments were a completely different game.

"I had to get my appendix taken out when I was a younger," Allison added. "I had the same symptoms as Stiles. The pain, headaches, fever—all of it."

"Hang on, hang _on._" Stiles interrupted, with an incredulous shake of his head. "I thought appendicitis wasn't some kind of thing that just happened overnight. Doesn't it take a while to develop…?"

"It did for me, but—"

"Blunt abdominal trauma-induced appendicitis is rare, but entirely possible." Lydia's voice sounded mechanical, as if she was reciting aloud from a medical journal. "It usually occurs after some blunt injury to the abdomen like a fall or a punch to the gut."

"Oh…" Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes upwards in a sign of defeat. "The _catwalk_."

"Right. The force can cause the blockage in your appendix, speeding up the process and causing pressure to build until the appendix…"

"Until it what?" Scott demanded, though he already felt the answer in his gut. He couldn't rid himself of the mental image of an overinflated balloon, swelling until it simply…

"Ruptures. Releasing toxic bacteria throughout the body."

Although the human was relieved to have some vague idea of what was plaguing him, a _rupturing_ appendix did not sound like a picnic.

"I suppose this beats Chupacabra cancer…"

"Scott, you need to get him to a hospital _now._" Allison's voice was low and urgent.

"She's right," Lydia continued. The words bubbled into the room as the banshee tried to talk as fast and concise as possible. "I had my suspicions after you and Isaac complained about the smell during school. That smell isn't from the Chupacabra—it's from the dying tissue caused by the growing bacteria in Stiles' appendix."

"That sounds…awful," Isaac echoed, trailing behind the alpha. Throughout the girl's explanation, Scott had gently guided Stiles back to the elevator. Derek disappeared for a moment and then reappeared, clutching his jacket under his arm and his car keys in his white-knuckled fist.

"On a scale of one to ten, what's the pain at?"

Stiles paused for a moment, considering the question. "When I'm moving, probably around a six or seven. Is that bad?" The human froze, his mouth dropping open in a horrified gasp. "Oh no. It hasn't ruptured yet, has it?"

"I…don't think so." Scott imagined the strawberry blonde pursing her lips together as she pondered the answer.

"You would definitely know when it ruptured," Allison added.

"That's comforting," Stiles muttered as the alpha helped him settle into the passenger seat. The werewolf hesitated before buckling his best friend in, yanking the seatbelt to be as loose as possible. It would be their luck to get in a car accident rushing to the hospital.

"Allison, we have to hang up now," Scott called over his shoulder after sliding into the driver's seat. Isaac nodded, with one finger hovering over the "end call" button. "I have to call my mom and make sure she knows we're coming."

"I understand."

"Just hurry, alright?" Lydia added. She could only sound emotionless for so long. Now the anxiety they all felt trickled into her voice. It was a daunting thought, but this could possibly be the last conversation they had with a certain human.

Derek revved his engine beside them, signaling that it was time to go.

Without a goodbye, Isaac quickly ended the call and flipped through his contacts until he found Melissa.

"Please pick up. _Please_ pick up," Scott muttered from the front seat, hoping that at least _one _person in his disjointed family was responsible enough to keep their phone on.

After the third ring, Melissa's confused voice filled the cab.

"Hello? Isaac…?"

"Mom!" Scott shouted, tossing another wild glance over his shoulder. "Are you at the hospital right now?"

"Scott? Of course. I told you I had work today, but wh—oh my God." Her son's question and the desperate tone of his voice finally registered in her mind. There was a brief pause on the other line. "Is everyone alright?"

"Well…" Scott hesitated, glancing to his grimacing best friend beside him. "What do you know about appendicitis?"

* * *

As per his mother's instructions, Scott pulled into the emergency room parking lot. He jumped out of the jeep and all but ran to the passenger side. By this point, the nurses waiting inside the glass windows of the emergency room poured out through the front door with a stretcher in tow. Scott released his pent-up breath of relief. His mom had warned the doctors of their arrival, meaning Stiles would get treatment immediately.

Stiles, on the other hand, was not so gleeful, especially after catching sight of the dusty police cruiser parked nearby. He groaned loudly, which only worried Scott more. At the sight of his best friend's panicked expression, the human quickly explained the reason for his disappointment.

"Your mom must've called my dad. He's probably freaking out. I never told him anything about yesterday."

"You didn't tell him anything?" Scott echoed, furrowing his brow. He had always assumed the Stilinskis were much more _honest_ ever since the whole human sacrifice showdown.

"Do you even _know _me?" The human countered.

"Fair point," Scott suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, letting the paramedics guide his best friend to the gurney. The human had an annoying fondness for hiding the truth. Stiles wouldn't have confessed his health problems even to Scott until it was too hard to hide them.

Scott missed the low grunting of the paramedics, but it was obvious that they were ready to move. Stiles lifted his hand with a wry expression, giving the werewolves a perfunctory wave as the paramedics wheeled him inside the emergency room.

Scott went to follow the human into the hospital, but Isaac reached out and briefly tapped the alpha's arm before dropping his hand. Scott stopped and turned, catching sight of his mother waiting by the glass doors where Stiles had just disappeared.

The alpha moved as fast as he possibly towards her could without alerting other patrons of his supernatural speed. "Mom! You are the _best," _he rushed out, profusely thanking his mother for preparing the emergency room for their arrival.

Isaac shuffled his feet beside his alpha and glanced from his pack brother to his adoptive mother. "Is he going to be okay?"

Melissa smiled warmly, reaching out to brush her two boys' arms. "If what Lydia and Allison seemed to think is true, then his appendix hasn't ruptured yet. That means the surgery will be much safer and he won't have to stay in the hospital as long."

"What would have happened if his appendix did rupture…?"

The woman frowned slightly. "It wouldn't be immediately fatal, but there would be a massive risk of contamination throughout the body. The surgery would be much riskier and there would be a greater chance for infection."

"Hopefully we got him here in time then."

Melissa agreed with a wide smile. "The sooner, the better. Though…" she paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully, "this could have been avoided if he had just let us take a few tests last night. For a human who's part of a wolf pack, he's terrified of the simplest things. Like _x-rays_."

If his mother was joking, that was an excellent sign for his best friend's fate. Scott laughed, feeling the anxious knots in his stomach loosen. "I'll make sure he gets the whole package next time we fight some supernatural creature."

She nodded and excused herself, saying she had to get ready if she wanted to be present during the boy's surgery. Almost as if an afterthought, she stopped in the middle of the hallway and tossed back her head. "You have a few visitors in the waiting lounge, by the way," she commented before continuing her hurried trek towards the pre-op station.

Isaac and Scott swapped glances before the latter smiled faintly. "It must be others."

"Yeah," Isaac echoed lamely. "Lydia, Derek…Allison." He peeked back at his alpha. Now that the stress of sick Stiles was out of their hands, the younger werewolf could return to worrying about his blossoming relationship with his alpha's ex.

Scott caught the beta's awkward hesitation. "Dude, I've told you a hundred times," he began, clasping the taller boy's shoulder. "I'm totally fine with you and Allison."

Isaac nodded slowly, unsure if he believed the werewolf's forced smile.

"But we can talk about it later. 'Kay? Right now we probably should go find the others and tell them about Stiles before Lydia completely rips apart the hospital."

"Right," Isaac chuckled nervously at the mental image. It was entirely possible and he didn't want to test the banshee.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! You guys are fantastic.** As for that Scott and Stiles oneshot I mentioned in the last chapter, I don't really have a release date set (because that would be too professional and I'm nothing if not a supreme amateur), but I can put it in my "priorities" folder if you want it sooner.


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